Work Text:
From time to time, after work, Midorima returns to his apartment, sits on the sofa, and just buries his face in his hands.
This was one of those times.
Becoming a doctor was a simple choice for Midorima. He was quite proficient in the sciences, and liked helping people, as much as he wouldn’t outright say it. Becoming an sport medicine physician was an even easier decision. He was well versed in common athletic injuries and prevention, given his history of basketball. His studiousness and determination lent quite well to medical school, and he graduated with honours. Over the years, he won many awards for his work and became renowned as a physician for famous athletes across the nation. However, all of the accolades in the world in would have never prepared him for these sort of situations.
"I’m sorry," Midorima says, the empty words falling from his lips.
On his examination table, his patient is shell-shocked. “What? No. No.” His figure shakes, his wide-eyed gaze on his leg, stunned that a part of his own body had betrayed him.
Midorima purposely did not dare to meet his patient’s eye, instead staring at a hairclip, his lucky item, placed innocently on his counter, his thoughts swirling viciously but always returning to a similar place.
It was one thing to steal someone’s life away, but quite another to force them to keep on living anyways.
Somehow, Midorima picks himself off of his sofa, bringing only a basketball and a radio, hoping the routine of shooting practice, after all these years, can drown out his thoughts. He goes to a street basketball court near his house, thankfully empty. He’s not sure if he could deal with people in this state. He turns on the radio station and shoots again and again, forcing himself to think of nothing but the perky voice of Oho Asa and his basketball bouncing and swishing into the net, again and again and again.
”- We stop this program of Oho Asa to bring breaking news! Fujioka Katsurou, the forward who donned the coveted number 10 jersey for the Kashima Antlers, has confirmed his leg injury is serious and is forced to retire from soc-“
Midorima slams the radio off and continues to shoot in silence.
Eventually, the sun goes down and Midorima is guided only by practice, the feeling of the ball imprinted into his hand. He does stop eventually, sweat clinging to his body and the moon providing almost no light and he knows he has been here for far too long. He gathers his stuff, preparing to leave, but something stops him. His feet guide him back to the court. He shoots ten more baskets, breathes in very very deeply before exhaling with a sigh, and returns home.